


You Are My Heart

by Angelily_Viventis



Series: Alan Rickman x Plus-size reader [64]
Category: Alan Rickman - Fandom
Genre: Age Difference, Angst, Anxiety Attacks, COVID, Congenital heart disease, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Married Couple, Older Man/Younger Woman, Size Difference, Stress Relief, Surgery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-12
Updated: 2020-12-12
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:08:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28034418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Angelily_Viventis/pseuds/Angelily_Viventis
Summary: (Y/N) is stressed out about her upcoming heart surgery. Alan and her take a moment to themselves to talk about the pros and cons of her having the surgery during a worldwide pandemic which leads to her having a panic attack.
Relationships: Alan Rickman/Original Female Character(s), Alan Rickman/Reader
Series: Alan Rickman x Plus-size reader [64]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1729954
Kudos: 9





	You Are My Heart

_Ahem... Ahem..._ Drones the soft sound of (Y/N) clearing her throat nervously in the living room, along with the soft sound of the television and the contrasting _pop_ of the crackling fire burning in the fireplace. 

"I'm fascinated watching a flock of birds just knowing all to turn and make patterns. Amazing how they do that, isn't it?" Alan tucks his sock-clad feet in underneath him, referring to the BBC Earth program they are currently watching. 

"Hmmm," (Y/N) agrees absent-mindedly where she's sitting next to him on the sofa, using her forefinger and thumb to push her bottom lip in between her teeth as she chews nervously.

_Ahem... Ahem-ahem... Ahem._

Alan looks over at his wife staring into the crackling fire, zoned out, knowing that she involuntarily makes repetitive throat-clearing noises only when she's extremely nervous. 

"Darling, are you listening?" 

"Hmmm." _Ahem._

Still no reaction. 

"Here," he mumbles as he leans over her for the remote, switching off the television. "What's going on in that big beautiful brain of yours?"

His fingers trail lightly down her arm, pulling her from her deep trance.

"Hm? Sorry," she smiles up at him apologetically. "I'm just," she gives a big sigh, wringing her cold hands, "I'm just mentally going over tomorrow's surgery."

"Would you like to talk about it?" 

"No, no, you're watching your program. Perhaps later."

"Nonsense," he offers sweetly, "I've got it pre-recorded anyway. I can finish watching it at a later time."

She rests the back of her head against the sofa, staring up at him in silence. 

"Are you sure?"

He gives her a look as if to say _of course I'm sure - you know this is more important._

She smiles as he reaches behind him for the notebook and pen that they have laying scattered throughout the house. 

"I take it you'd want to start with the pros first?"

A nervous nod before she takes a deep breath. 

"Number one," he calls out after drawing a line down the middle of the page, labelling each side as _PROS_ and _CONS_ with a big bold heading at the top of the small rectangular yellow page - **OPEN-HEART SURGERY**.

A chill runs down her spine as her eyes scan the words on the page. It's definitely not the first time she will be undergoing surgery, quite the contrary, actually. Being born with Congenital Heart Disease that has left her with three holes in her heart, (Y/N) has had her fair share of seven open-heart surgeries in the past but none of them was as frightening as tomorrow's surgery - especially with a worldwide pandemic literally hanging in the air. 

"No more chest pain," Alan starts to scribble with his elongated handwriting, pulling her from her internal panic. 

"Right. No more chest pain," she smiles relieved. _Oh, what a joyous day that would be._

"More energy to do daily activities... lower chance of a heart attack..." she counts on her fingers, adjusting the soft blanket over her and absentmindedly also covering him. "Hmmm..."

"You can say it," Alan encourages, noting that she's particularly shy about what she wants to put on the list next. 

"More... sex."

His heart melts at her utter and complete honesty - her vulnerability - as her dark chocolate orbs meet his chestnut eyes. He can't help but feel sorry for her. He knows with her worsening symptoms these past few months, the risk of them being physically intimate has been far greater than before. 

"More sex," he nods, "we'll make that number one... Any more pros?"

She purses her lips, staring lost at the licking yellow and orange flames once again, "I can't seem to think of any right at this moment."

"We can circle back to it," he encourages, the tip of the pen now resting at _cons._

"Cons... Right..." She sighs with her eyes screwed shut, resting her head in her hands on her knees. 

Before he can rest his hand supportingly on her back, she gets up off the sofa and starts pacing - all business, at this point. 

"Heart attack... Stroke..." She gulps audibly after noticing the quiver in her voice. "I could bleed out on the operating table... Blood clot..."

He doesn't want to believe that that could be their reality but he reluctantly writes it down - slowly - letting the words sink in. 

The more she counts off the number of cons, the faster she paces, frequently popping a holiday-season peppermint from the crystal jar on top of the mantle into her mouth. 

"Easy with those - you're not supposed to eat before the surgery," Alan warns lightly.

She interjects nonchalantly, assuring him that she still has at least a couple of hours before the cut-off time.

"What if the bypass machine stops pumping my heart during surgery? What if my heart doesn't start beating once they take me off bypass? What if I wake up with a cracked open ribcage? Do _you_ know how painful that must be... when you're waking up in the middle of a surgery... laying on that cold slab... feeling everything but being unable to say something, so you have to just lie there and take it?" 

Tears start rolling down her cheeks, as her pacing increases, her breathing starting to hitch in her throat, the peppermints now completely dissolved. 

Noticing her rising state of panic, Alan places the notepad and pen down and moves to sit on the edge of the sofa with his fingers interlocked, his hands hanging in front of the open space between his knees. 

"Darling, please stay calm. You _have_ to stay calm," he stresses while his eyes trail her as she paces back and forth in front of the fireplace. 

"And-and-and," she cries with an expulsion of breath, her hand resting over her heart as a dull wave of chest pain starts to warm her insides. 

Feelings of extreme agitation and terror whirl inside her as she cannot stop thinking of what could possibly go wrong during surgery. Not just _during_ but what about _after_?

_OH, GOD!!_

"I'm going to have a such an ugly 10-inch scar running down my chest," she cries. "E-everytime I change o-or you take m-my clothes o-off... There will b-be 'is big red u-ugly scar!"

"(Y/N), you _have_ to stay _calm_ ," Alan urges yet again, moving towards her.

He absolutely hates seeing her like this, knowing that a panic attack can increase the risk of sudden cardiac arrest. 

"What if they reschedule my surgery again because of the virus? What if... while I'm sitting here at home _waiting_ for the surgery to eventually happen, my condition worsens and I die?" A teary gasp before, "What if I bring COVID home? What if I get it in the hospital and in turn infect you? Nevermind _me,_ " she points to herself and then at him, "what if _you_ die?"

She's done it - she's set herself off. Her breath hitches in her throat as she tries to see through her tears. Her heart is beating so fast that she can feel the pulse point in her neck pounding - an uncomfortable feeling altogether. She starts to feel dizzy, reaching out and grabbing hold of the mantlepiece before doubling over as her chest starts cramping, her heart hammering against her ribcage. 

Alan acts fast, grabbing her and holding her close against him in her frantic state, knowing that the steady beating of his own heart will eventually have a calming effect on her. He rests his chin on top of her head, stroking her hair gently while looking out the window at the dark night sky, seeking - _hoping -_ to find an answer that will calm her down. 

"Listen to me... just... listen... You are utterly beautiful to me - big scar or not. Your previous once have healed perfectly fine, I assure you that this one will, too... As for COVID... Don't you fret. We'll be extra cautious and we're getting tested before coming home anyway, so you have absolutely nothing to worry about. As for you waking up on the operating table... That's just your over-thinking response kicking in. It's in your nature to make up _highly unlikely_ scenarios. The chances of that happening is about the same as an asteroid hitting the Taj Mahal while being controlled by the Russians. It's completely far fetched and highly unlikely."

Her delicate hands clutch at the cool cotton material covering his chest that is now soaked in her ever-flowing tears, his ears ringing from her loud crying. 

"Shhh-shh-sh," he sways gently with her, placing kiss after kiss in her hair. "Please, dear, you have to listen to me," he whispers softly, tears now forming in his own eyes. 

She hiccups before burying her face in the crook of his fleshy neck, taking in the warm scent that is her husband - cardamom and cloves and a whisper of whisky - in fear that it might be the last time she ever gets to smell him again. Her arms snake around his protruding stomach to his back, holding onto him dearly, in fear of the same. 

"Are you doing your grounding exercises?" He asks over her decreased crying.

She revels in the way his voice reverberates off his chest, vibrating against her ear at the call of his question. 

She hums in confirmation, doing her very best to use all of her five senses to ground herself while clinging onto her pillar of strength - her real-life life-support. 

Once he can hear she is calm, he holds her away from him by both her shoulders, looking over her intently for any signs of them needing to go to the hospital. When he can see no immediate danger, he looks lovingly into her eyes, his hand snaking through her hair and cupping the back of her head. 

With a smile he breathes, "You missed the most important pro of them all - you get to _live_. You heard what Dr Livingstone said - you have a 97% chance of survival. I _know_ the cons to you having the surgery sounds daunting, however, the benefits far outweigh the risks."

"You're right. You're right," she smiles, and for the first time in a long time, it's a genuine smile - a smile filled with the knowledge that she will be alright and that she has the most amazing husband waiting for her once she gets out. 

With that realization, she stands on her tippy toes and pulls Alan down to her, sealing their lips in the softest, yet sensual, of kisses. A peppermint infused kiss. 

"Can you tell me again?" She breathes once they pull apart, staring into his eyes that seem to see and know her every inner workings. 

A soft smile before he leads her by the hand over to the sofa. 

"C'mere," he instructs, tucking her into his side with the back of her head resting on his chest. 

He covers them both with the blanket before starting to explain to her the procedure of tomorrow's surgery. Even though the doctors have explained to both of them on several occasions how the surgery will take place, he knows that his wife likes to mentally run through it in order to prepare herself. _And to ease her nerves._

"...And lastly, during and after your surgery, you'll be watched closely by your doctors and nurses and monitored by several devices. You'll spend some time, after waking up, in the Intensive Care Unit. They might not let me in, however, with the virus all around us..."

"BUT I will be there looking at you through the glass doors to make sure you're okay," he interjects himself quickly after seeing the shocked look on her face, realizing that the current pandemic will definitely alter the way she usually has surgeries. 

He continues again after feeling her physically relax and melt back into the curvature of his body, "Then you'll be transferred to your own private room later tomorrow where I will definitely have all the privileges to see you and hold you and do with you just as I please."

She giggles at his sexual innuendo, knowing very well that he is aware they have to wait at least eight weeks before getting back to their - temporarily on-hold - pleasurable activities. The soft drone of his voice, along with his warm scent encircling them, and the crackling of the fire is quick to lull her to sleep. 

"Black or navy?" Alan emerges from the walk-in closet holding a long coat in each hand out to her the next morning. 

Despite falling asleep in front of the fire last night, safe in Alan's embrace, she was up all night, tossing and turning, fretting over her surgery. _Today is the day_. He knew her nerves were high and that she might appreciate the help with selecting clothes for the day. 

"Personally, I would go with the navy since it matches your camel boots," he points to her shoes with the coat. 

"Navy it is then," she feigns a smile at him but it soon drops as he disappears into the closet again. 

"Not that it matters anyway," he calls out to her once more, "soon, you'll be sporting one of those alluring white and green hospital gowns."

"Hm, don't remind me," she gets up off the edge of the bed and holds her arms out for him to help her put her coat on. 

"Are you ready for your big day?" He asks, turning her to face him. 

A loaded sigh before she answers sullenly, "No... I don't think I'll ever be ready." 

He lifts her chin in order to meet her eyes with a soft smile, "Look at me. You _will_ be alright."

He envelopes her in a big bear hug, holding her, as they take in the quiet of the early morning in their darkened bedroom, followed by a long kiss pressed to her forehead. 

They leave for the hospital shortly after since (Y/N) can't eat breakfast, or anything else for that matter, before the surgery. 

_Ahem... hm-ahem... ahem._

Alan looks empathetically over at his wife in the passenger seat next to him, letting go of the gear stick to interlock their hands and bringing hers up to his lips to place a kiss on her knuckles. 

"Could you turn the heat up, please? It's freezing," she requests, still clinging onto his grasp, looking out of the car window at the snowy scene passing them by. 

The smell of a hospital overwhelms her to this day, even with her track record of surgeries and even through the double layer of fabric from the face mask that she's wearing. 

Reality starts to set in as she and Alan follow the nurse, hand in hand, down the long white corridor to her assigned room. Her hands are shaking like the tail-end of a rattlesnake, her mask seemingly cutting off any last air supply that she might have, making it extremely hard for her to do her breathing exercises. 

"I'll give you some time to settle in before I send for Dr Livingstone."

A sigh of relief as both of them rip off their masks since they are to be alone in the room for the time being. Alan has been so gentle, kind, and calm throughout the whole process as can be witnessed from the way he meticulously folds her earlier clothes up and packs it away in her bag before helping her dress in the hospital gown. 

"Can you... hold me?" She requests with a quiver in her voice, her hands trembling excessively. 

He immediately drops what he's doing, wrapping his strong arms around her, resting his nose in her hair. He has no idea how much him just merely holding her does to her insides - besides for the occasional butterflies, it also helps to calm her instantly. 

"Oh, uhm, sorry to interrupt your moment," the doctor apologizes, "Mrs Rickman, we're ready when you are."

The couple reluctantly pulls away, both reaching for their masks while Dr Livingstone starts his explanation of the proceedings. 

"I'm bloody freezing," she announces while rubbing her exposed arms before Alan lays another two blankets over her once she's settled in the hospital bed. 

"May I remind you, Mrs Rickman, that you can't have any jewellery on you during surgery," the doctor reminds her with a knowing brow and what (Y/N) can only picture is a soft smile behind his mask and shield. 

Her eyes search Alan's where he's situated next to her hospital bed, still holding her hand tightly. 

"It's alright, darling, I'll keep it safe on my person at all times."

She pries her beloved wedding band with shaking hands off of her ring finger and softly places it in Alan's waiting palm. 

"I wish I could kiss you goodbye," she croaks, tightening the nervous grip on his hand. 

_COVID fucking sucks. She can't even enjoy the little comforts that would usually keep her calm in these terrorizing times._

"You are going to do great and you're going to be alright," he reassures before placing his masked mouth to her forehead. 

With his clipboard in hand, the doctor informs them that it's time to get going as he starts to undo the breaks on the hospital bed, ready to wheel her out to the operating theatre. 

Alan leans into her one last time, whispering, "I'll be right here when you get out... And always remember, (Y/N)... _You_ are my heart."


End file.
